Encore Edie (9 page)

We drive the couple of blocks to Indigo Court to pick up Merry, who gets in the back with Dexter. “I look nice,” she says. She’s wearing a skirt too.

“You sure do,” Dex says, and for the rest of the ride they giggle together in the back, comparing nail polish. Dexter’s is pink. Merry has a different colour on every finger—pink,
green, blue, orange, yellow. It’s kind of cool, actually. Auntie Ellie must have helped her. “I am so going to do my nails just like that next time,” Dex says, and the thing about Dex is, I know she will.

“Me too,” I say.

Mom sneezes into her tea. We all bless her.

“We could have a little party,” I say. “After we get home. All do our nails together.”

Mom sneezes again. We bless her again.

“Don’t forget, Robert’s coming back with us after, though,” Dex says. “We can’t just take off and paint our nails.”

“Robert can paint his nails too,” I say. Merry laughs.

I’ve been nice enough to buy myself silence for the rest of the ride. I stare out the window at the rain and the grey smudge of sky, sipping my coffee, tuning everybody out. The weather in my head is the same as the weather in the sky: grey, heavy-hanging clouds of trouble at school and at home. At school, they talk behind my back.
Number One, that girl who wears the same T-shirt too often, who thinks she can direct the school musical and will end by embarrassing herself and everybody, who does she think she is?
And at home, everyone is disappointed in me because of Merry, because I can’t fake being nice. Who wants a fake friend, anyway? So I spend as much time by myself as I can, and try to remember not to snap at people too much or let them see how unhappy I am. I try to throw out bits of niceness the way you’d throw scraps to a strange dog, to get it to leave you alone.

“Okay,” Mom says after a while. We’ve been driving for almost an hour and it’s raining harder. I know we’re getting to the part she doesn’t like. “Edie, can you read me those directions? Everybody help me look for street names.”

We all spot the names, tree names: Maple, Chestnut, Oak, Larch. “There! There!” Dex shrieks, pointing, and Mom turns cautiously down a street lined with parked cars. “That’s Robert’s building!”

“I think you just spit on my neck,” I say.

“Help me find a parking spot,” Mom says.

But Robert is already waiting on the sidewalk, waving wildly and pointing at an empty space just up the street. “There he is!” Dex says. I open my mouth to tell her she did it again, but Mom puts a hand on my knee, which I understand to mean,
Yes, she is acting weird. Let it go.

Robert is grinning as if it’s Christmas morning. “You made it!” he says.

We all pile out onto the sidewalk. We introduce Merry and she gives Robert a hug. He hugs her back. He looks the same as he did last summer—brown hair, brown eyes, a bit taller than Dex and me, not cute or ugly, just Robert—except that his tan is gone and his voice is a bit deeper.

“I would invite you in, but my mom is sleeping,” he says. “She worked last night. But she says after we get back, you should come in for a cup of coffee, Mrs. Snow.”

Mom says she wouldn’t miss it. While we’re at the planetarium, she’s going to do some shopping at the kitchen
stores on Fourth Avenue, and then we’re all going back to our house for supper, Robert and his mom too. Robert’s mom is a chef and works until late six nights a week. He doesn’t have a dad.

We wave until Mom has driven away and then we walk a few blocks to the big turnip-shaped planetarium. It’s raining harder. Merry shares her pink umbrella with Dexter. Robert and I get wet.

“That’s okay,” Robert says. “Edie and I aren’t all pretty like you two.”

I try to catch his eye to share the joke—who gets dressed up for the planetarium?—but he’s smiling at Dex and Merry. Whatever.

“Oh my god,” Robert’s mom says. “Look at you guys. Edie, doll, you’re soaked. Give me your sweater, I’ll throw it in the dryer. Dex, honey.” She gives Dex a kiss on the cheek. “Merry, it’s so nice to meet you. Let me take your coat. Did you have a good time? I made banana bread and cocoa. Your mom’s already here—we’ve been catching up. Edie, baby, you need to give me that T-shirt too, you’re soaked through. You can borrow something of Robbie’s. Robbie, sweetie—”

“Come on,” Robert says. “You can change in my room.”

Dex follows me, and Merry follows her. We all troop into Robert’s room. He digs through a drawer and hands me a
T-shirt that says
Friends Don’t Let Friends Go To Starbucks
. I laugh. Dex tries to laugh too, even though I know she doesn’t get it. She loves Starbucks. Merry beams at everyone. When Robert’s closed the door behind him, Dex and I quickly look around. Dark blue walls, computer desk, bed, enormous saggy blue armchair, bookshelves.

“True crime,” Dexter says, wrinkling her nose.

“Awesome,” I say.

“Movies,” she continues, quickly scanning another shelf. “Mysteries. Bollywood. He must watch them on the computer.” Next to the computer, on the desk, are a set of huge headphones. “He has to be quiet a lot during the day when his mom is sleeping.”

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“He told me, when you and Merry were playing that moon landing game.”

“That wasn’t a game,” I say. “It was a simulator.”

We find Mom and Robert’s mom and Robert in the kitchen. Robert smiles that big goofy smile again when he sees us. I’d been worried that today would be awkward, but he’s just been weirdly happy all day. A little shy, maybe, but nothing a person can’t just walk away from and pretend to be engrossed in something else, which is pretty much what
I’ve
been doing all day. We all crowd around the table, Robert and Dexter and Merry all squeezed together on the banquette, and tell our moms about the planetarium. I pull out the package of freeze-dried ice cream I found at the
gift shop. “The astronauts eat this on the space shuttle,” I explain.

“What flavour?” Robert’s mom asks. It’s Neapolitan. “Oh, come on,” she says. “They go all the way into space and all they get is Neapolitan? That’s not trying. Who is this space shuttle chef, anyway? What about hazelnut gelato, or tiramisu, or a nice raspberry sorbet?”

“The chef woke up,” Robert says, smiling at his mom.

“The chef never sleeps!” Robert’s mom says. “What about mocha fudge? They wouldn’t get me into space without some mocha fudge.”

“Pecan,” I say.

“Cherry custard,” Dex says.

“Green tea,” Mom says. “What? I liked it that time Edie made us try some. I like tea, I like ice cream. Why wouldn’t I like tea ice cream?”

“Tiger-tiger,” Robert says. “Diet tiger-tiger.” He used to have a weight problem.

“Kulfi,” Merry says. We all look at her. “From my restaurant,” she says.

“Which restaurant, sweetie?” Robert’s mom says.

“In Montreal,” Merry says. “In our old house.”

“Kulfi is Indian ice milk,” Robert’s mom says. “With almonds and pistachios. It’s the perfect thing after curry. Do you like curry too, Merry?”

Merry claps her hands. “Palak paneer!”

“All right.” Robert’s mom slaps her hand on the table.
“It’s official! I am going on Merry’s spaceship so we can have freeze-dried palak paneer and kulfi.”

“And tandoori chicken,” I say. “And mango lassi.” I love Indian food.

“Pappadum,” Merry says.

“Pappadum.” Impulsively, I pick up my mug and hold it out to clink against hers. “Cheers. Indian food.”

“I cheers
you
,” she says, and bangs her mug so hard against mine she spills my cocoa. Robert’s mom gets a cloth and then we all start to tidy up and get ready to go.

“Shotgun,” Dex says.

“What are you, six years old?” I say, so Robert will hear. Dexter blushes.

In the car, Merry falls asleep almost right away.

“Are you intimidated to cook for a real chef?” Dex asks Mom from the front seat.

“I’m a little nervous,” Mom says. “But it’s hard to ruin roast chicken if you remember to use a meat thermometer.”

I find this hilarious and laugh for the next ten minutes. I see Mom put her hand on Dex’s knee to say,
Yes, she is acting weird. Let it go.
In fact I’m relieved: relieved the day hasn’t been so bad so far, relieved Robert didn’t ask me out again, relieved that even though I have to share the back seat with Merry, I won’t have to talk to her all the way home. All that relief is going to my head like soda bubbles.

We’re almost home when Dex turns around and says quietly, “Meat thermometer.”

“What’s so funny?” Robert says, an hour later. Our fingernails are still tacky with rainbow colours and we’re laughing as we all barrel down the hall to let him and his mom in.

“Meat thermometer,” Merry says, and we all start again.

“Meat thermometer?” Robert says, bugging his eyes out, and then he’s laughing too. That’s what I like about Robert: you don’t have to explain things to him. We point his mom toward the kitchen, where Mom and Aunt Ellie are worrying over supper, and push Robert into the den, where we’ve been painting our nails.

“Oh no,” Robert says.

“Oh yes,” Dad says. He’s sitting in his recliner, reading the newspaper, holding up one finger-waggling hand so Robert can see the fingernails we painted pink, purple, blue, green, and orange.

“Oh yes,” Daniel says. He’s sitting at the computer doing something on the internet, holding up his hand the same way.

“It comes off, right?” Robert says.

Dad shakes his head sadly. “They wouldn’t tell us, son.”

We take turns. Robert reluctantly agrees to alternating orange and brown, like tiger-tiger ice cream. Merry does the orange. For all her clumsiness, she’s really careful and does a pretty good job. I start the brown. It’s strange to paint someone else’s nails. I put my hand on Robert’s to hold him still, and that’s even stranger. His hand is too warm or something. I let go again, hesitating.

“Oh, let me do it,” Dex says impatiently. She’s been leaning over my shoulder, blocking the light.

“Fine,” I say, shoving the bottle at her.

She holds his hand to steady it too, and holds it after she’s done so he won’t fidget and smudge it before it’s dry. So that’s why she’s been acting odd all day; I’m finally figuring it out. Poor Robert. He’s putting up with it pretty well, though, all things considered. And poor Dexter too, really, when she realizes he’s just not interested.

Supper is roast chicken and gravy and mashed potatoes and something Mom calls Hunter Carrots, which she has never made before and comes from a recipe book. Usually she just steams them.

“Are these mushrooms?” I ask. “Mushrooms in my carrots? Because why?”

“Because I’m a chef!” Robert’s mom says, making everyone laugh. “This is delicious. You know, people hardly ever invite us for a meal, do they, Robbie? Because nobody wants to cook for a chef. You know what I cook at home?”

“My mom makes the best Mr. Noodles,” Robert says. “The secret is getting the temperature of the tap water just right.”

“I slice a mean tomato, too,” Robert’s mom says. “When we’re being fancy on weekends.”

“I want to hear all about your restaurant,” Aunt Ellie says.

Robert’s mom used to be a chef in a big hotel downtown, but last year she bought her own restaurant and she does
practically everything herself. Fortunately, it’s really tiny and she says she likes to keep the menu pretty simple. It’s called the Comfort Food Café. Mac and cheese, chicken soup, fresh bread, chocolate pudding, things like that, but everything is homemade and warm and healthy and just really, really good. (This last bit comes from Robert. He does his homework there in the afternoons sometimes if there’s a free table, and answers the phone if they’re short-handed.)

“We’ll all have to go sometime,” Dad says. “It sounds wonderful.”

“We don’t take reservations, but you let me know and I’ll save you a table,” Robert’s mom says. “We would love to have you, any time. Now, that’s enough about me. I want to know about this musical Edie’s doing at school. Writing, directing, starring? The big cheese? The head honcho? Number One?”

“THEY HEARD ABOUT THAT IN KITSILANO?” I say.

Everybody looks at their plates and Daniel starts humming “It’s a Small World After All.”

“Not funny!” I say. “Stop that!”